Volunteering in Valencia after DANA caused a disastrous flood

11 days after DANA caused a disastrous flood in Valencia, I go into the affected areas for the fourth time. The more often I go there, the more it seems to affect me. Physically and mentally. Guilt is just one of the many feelings I’m feeling whenever I come back from volunteering. Questions start to arise: Why did this catastrophe happen? How is it possible to live a normal life next to a war zone-like area? Did a movie just become a reality? How much more will I be able to handle?

Diary of a volunteer in Valencia: Day Three

6.11. 8:07
I wake up in my comfortable home after a good night’s sleep. My body needs the rest. I dreamt about mud. The things I see during the day start to follow me at night.
Yesterday we’ve been in Paiporta, the most affected town in Valencia. It’s been Day 7 after DANA caused a heavy flood that left Paiporta and several other small towns like a war zone. It’s my third day of volunteering, and I took the day off work to help. My job doesn’t feel right during these times. It feels pointless. Out there, I feel useful. Like I’m actually making a difference. Even though my two hands are a very small piece of the puzzle.

In the morning we go to my boyfriend’s house first to have breakfast with his sister. She tells me about a serious health problem. It feels weird. Aren’t there enough bad things happening already? We start to make our way into the city centre to take a bus that would bring us as close as possible to Paiporta. After waiting for over 15 minutes, we walk to a different bus station to try for another line. We carry water after it’s finally been restocked again in the grocery stores, and we also bought chocolate and sweets this time. The other bus isn’t coming either, and we are too impatient to wait any longer, so we start walking. Another girl who has also been waiting for the bus joins us. It’s easy to make out other volunteers. They are the ones who carry brooms and shovels. She tells us that she’s on the way to visit her brother in Alfafar. She’s carrying four brooms all by herself. She found them the other day in a shop and because they are rare at the moment she bought them. After a 45-minute walk and being close to the bridge already, the bus finally passes. There’s no point for us to take it now. All the buses in Valencia are completely overfilled at the moment because a week after the flood hit Valencia, the metro lines still aren’t running.
Another 45-minute walk, and we arrive in Paiporta. Sara, the girl from the bus station, actually stayed with us instead of going to Alfafar. On our way in, we cross a broken bridge and see that many streets are missing pieces. I take a few pictures, but once we are in, I can’t in order to protect my phone from the mud.

Entering Paiporta is way different than Sedaví or Benetússer the other days. I’m lost for words, but I’ll try anyway. It’s a complete disaster. I can see now why there wasn’t a lot of official help to be seen in the other towns. They are here. It doesn’t only look like an active war zone, it also sounds like one. There are tractors, trucks, cars, vans. Red Cross, firefighters, police and hundreds of volunteers. We feel a bit lost today. We don’t personally know anyone who lives here, so we don’t have a set goal where to walk to. After checking the map, we go to a house where a woman with a broken hip needs water. It is a bit hard to find the entrance because of all the trash, mud, and broken cars that are blocking the streets. Finally we find it. The glass of the door is missing, the bell and name signs torn out of the wall.

I walk up to her door, but she says that someone already brought her water in the morning, so she doesn’t need any more. We walk out on the street to see who else would need it. It’s hard to walk around here. It’s pure chaos, and the mud sticks on our shoes. We see elderly people on their balconies watching what’s going on in the streets. We yell up there, and one man seems to need water. It takes us a few minutes to reach his entrance due to the deep mud, water, trash, and everything else that is going on here. He opens and tells us he can’t go downstairs because his legs are really bad. Turns out his other neighbours need water too, all elderly people. They seem to be happy about the chocolate as well. They ask us if our family is ok, if we are ok. Then they thank us and we leave. It’s time to see where our hands are needed. Just like the week before, it’s not a long search. We find a few guys who are cleaning out a garage on the next street. Or they are trying to clean it out. It’s such a disaster, it’s hard to know where to start. There are tractors who are clearing some of the huge trash piles from the streets. We start to shovel the mud out on the street to be able to enter the garage. There’s one guy who tells us what to do, and after a few minutes, another group of men passing by is joining us. They ask him what stuff needs to be thrown out, and it turns out the guy is also just a volunteer and has no idea who’s garage it is. We form a line to throw out all the things. The garage is huge and dark. Luckily, someone brought a torch. Piece after piece is going out, and hours pass until we reach the back. Or so we thought. Turns out there are more people emptying it from the other side, as it has two entrances. One of them is the owner, and he confirms that we can throw out everything. Not that we really needed the confirmation, it’s all wet and broken anyway.

We continue, and at some point, a truck and officials are stopping in front of the garage to pick up some trash. They seem to be a mix of firefighters and policemen. We throw what we can into the truck. The officials don’t help us. They just stand there while we work. It’s always strange to go outside. Inside the garage, it’s dark and almost quiet. Once you go out, you enter a war zone. It’s not only what you see. It’s also what you hear. Like construction work, only at least 20 times louder. The whole situation looks like a movie. It feels like a movie. We work and work, and it seems impossible to empty this garage. The mud makes everything we throw out heavier. Hours later, we start seeing progress, and we leave the group to make our way home. We are very hungry, and our feet are aching really bad today. While walking through the streets, we often sink into the mud. Sometimes, it looks like an even floor, but then you walk into a combination of mud and water that reaches over your ankle. I try to forget that the mud is infectious now. I also tried to forget that fact when mud hit my arms, face, hair, and eye while cleaning out the garage. Paiporta really is different. It looks like DANA just flooded the town a day ago.

We are walking back and my boyfriend says that they really need help here. I feel the same way. Way more help than in the other towns. There’s one thing I have to point out, though. We’ve seen way more officials here, but what are they doing? Everything seems so unorganised, uncoordinated. We haven’t seen one single machinery that removes cars. They are only clearing mud and trash. Why does no one seem to get that removing the cars is the most important thing? While we thought we’ve seen a lot of broken cars in Benetússer and Sedaví, it’s nothing compared to Paiporta.

After 90 minutes, we reach the bus that brings us home. The strangest thing is always crossing the bridge. On the one side, you’re in a war zone, on the other side, people sit at the hairdresser and eat in the restaurant. How can anyone do something as normal as that these days? On our way home, many people ask us how it is there. There. That’s what they call it. We’re here, and the others are there. We’re here, living our normal lives, and the others are there, trying to recover from a catastrophe. Although exhausted, dirty, and hungry, we still go for a drink before heading to our houses. The owner of the bar doesn’t look happy. He lives too far away to understand that there are more important things than dirty chairs. We were there, we understand, so we don’t care about the look he’s giving us. At home, it takes me an hour to wash everything thoroughly, including myself, before I can finally eat something. I wonder how much time it will take until Paiporta won’t at least look like a war zone anymore. How much time until they will at least have a supermarket they could go to. I wonder how many more days I can go out there to help.

Day Four of Volunteering in Valencia after DANA

10.11. 11:33
I’m sitting at the beach, watching the surfers and hearing the waves crash at the shore. It’s a much needed break I’m taking. Yesterday was my fourth day of volunteering, and the eleventh day after a catastrophe found the region of Valencia.

We wake up, eat breakfast, and make our way to my boyfriend’s uncle’s house again to bring him the meat he was asking for. On the bus that brings us closer to the affected areas, someone put a paper onto the infoscreen saying, “Thank you.” We get off the bus and walk into Benetússer. This time, the walk is shorter because they finally allow volunteers to use the closer bridge.

Today, there are so many volunteers, more than we’ve seen on any other day. We arrive at the uncle’s house and notice that the pile of cars that was still there the other day has been removed. A lot of things have been removed. It looks like the official help is finally here and better organised. We bring the meat up to the apartment and, once again, are served with food and tea. We need to gain some energy after the long walk in the sun before we make our way to Catarroja today. We thought as this town is a bit further away, there might be fewer volunteers. It’s a long walk, and the mild November sun is still powerful enough to make us sweat. To enter Catarroja, we have to cross another bridge. A bridge without a handrail. It’s been washed away by the flood. A part of the bridge is missing, just like many parts of the streets are missing.

There are countless people, and the noises are loud enough to make it difficult to understand what the other person is saying. The police are handling the traffic, the firefighters are pumping out buildings, and the Red Cross is giving out food. It finally seems as organised as it should have been a week ago. We enter Catarroja and are a bit overwhelmed by all the people helping. My boyfriend really wants to help clean out a building while I prefer to look for elderly people who might need help getting groceries. My body is still aching from the other days of volunteering. He finds a drugstore that needs to be cleaned out, and I continue my way to the centre. I feel a bit lost and check the map online to see who needs help. I find an address, and on my way there, I see countless volunteers cleaning out garages and stores as well as huge lines in front of food pantries. It’s hot food like pasta and soup, and people really missed that. And I see workers from organisations carrying groceries to houses. They make me feel useless. I arrive at the adress and they tell me that someone already brought the things they needed so I make my way back to where my boyfriend is working. On the way, I see an elderly man on the balcony, but he confirms that he has everything he needs. So, I start to help clean out the drugstore, too, even though my body is full of pain. It’s hard work because there’s a lot of mud that needs to be filled into baskets, and I empty them. We always do it in pairs, one basket is too heavy to be carried by just one person. One of the guys tells me he came to help today from Cartagena. Another one says he and his friends are here for the whole weekend from Pamplona. That moves me. It’s almost 500 kilometres away, and yet they came. People from all over the country are coming together to help. But I can’t think about that. It would make me cry, and there’s work to do. After about an hour, we come across an area where we discover a pipe that’s leaking gas. We clear the shop immediately and get a policeman to check it out. They take a quick look and immediately clear not only the shop but the area around it as well. I don’t even want to imagine what would have happened if someone had lit up a cigarette. Did we actually risk our lives today?

It’s afternoon, and we decide to make our way back. We’re both exhausted and need to rest. While walking about an hour back to the bridge, we see messages. Most of them say “Thank you” like the one on the bus, but there are also angry messages towards Sánchez, the Spanish Prime minister.

But then we come by a building thats walls have been covered by letters. I read one of them and have to step away immediately. The letters are made by children from all over the world and this one said that we shouldn’t be worried, help will arrive soon. How can kids send us more strength than politicians? How can kids understand what’s going on, but politicians can’t? We walk a few more metres, but also remembering that people from all over Spain came to help today makes me break down in the middle of the street. I can’t keep my emotions in check anymore and cry them all out on my boyfriend’s shoulder. He’s emotional too, he read more than one letter.

Finally, we continue our walk and decide to go for dinner later after resting for a bit. When we arrive at the bus station, we see a lot of people carrying posters and the Valencian flag. They all head towards the city centre, and my boyfriend tells me he read something about a protest. I check online and see that it would start in half an hour, the exact time that it would take for us to go to the Plaza de Ayuntamiento, where the march will start. We don’t really need to agree to go there, we are both upset with the government. Dirty as we are, we join the mass. There are about 130.000 people, and as the protest begins, they yell “Asesino” and “Mazón Dimisión” which means “Murderer,” and that the Valencian president Carlos Mazón should resign immediately. We’re not staying for the whole thing, though, because we really need a shower.

Later, we meet for dinner and we really need it. Doing a normal thing is so important after everything we’ve seen over the last couple of days. Back home, I’m trying to sort my thoughts. I’m happy that the help the people in the affected areas need is finally there. I’m angry with the government whose help came too late for many people. Coming from Austria makes it hard for me to understand how this disastrous flood could happen. How can such a big country be so unorganised? I’m so emotional after reading the letters and talking with the other volunteers from all over Spain. Tears are filling my eyes again. How much more will I be able to handle? I kinda don’t want to go back to help, but I also feel guilty thinking I could do more. Is it ok for me to continue with my life while others are dealing with the aftermath of DANA less than three kilometres away? Exhausted and full of unanswered questions, I fall asleep.